The idea was indeed a novel one. Commentators across Aurora wasted no time dissecting it, calling it the Federation’s attempt to bridge the gap between everyday society and the supernatural.
It was said the League would exist in two forms.
The first was the virtual circuit, a carefully regulated battlefield where the majority of the matches would take place.
A virtual reality field just like how the second round of the college exams was conducted.
This would allow combatants to push their abilities to their limits in environments generated to mimic real danger, without the same risks that came with unrestrained supernatural clashes.
The second was the reality circuit. This would be the stage for the finals. Here, the spectacle would be raw and unfiltered, with contenders facing off in specially fortified arenas designed to withstand the devastation their powers could unleash.
Here, anyone who could afford the tickets could watch it live.
A sport that could be consumed as both game and reality, offering safety and scale in the virtual circuit while preserving the awe and spectacle of true combat in the finals.
But for all the excitement, much was still being kept under wraps. How the players would earn from the League was one of the biggest unanswered questions. Rumors swirled that the income would eclipse even the highest-paying sports in the world—football, racing, and so on—but for now, nothing concrete had been revealed.
More details would come, but only when those involved were ready to announce them.
Until then, the public had to be content with anticipation.
Lily sat cross-legged on her bed, the pale glow of her phone projection painting her face in shades of blue.
The image hovered above the screen, a translucent panel showing the chatter of her school group. Lines of text flickered in rapid bursts as her classmates debated furiously.
Most of the boys were already obsessed with the Supernatural Exhibition League, their excitement spilling into half-baked predictions and jokes.
"Did you guys read the fine print?" one message read. "This whole thing isn’t really for Awakeners—it’s tailored to cultivators."
Dozens of notifications stacked on top of each other, each variation of the same point. The League, at least for now, was being presented as a cultivator’s sport.
Awakeners? Left uncertain.
Some speculated that another version might be created in the future, one that gave Awakeners their own stage.
Lily stared at the scrolling conversation, her lips pressing into a thin line.
She wasn’t really concerned with whether it was a cultivators’ sport or an Awakeners’ sport. What caught her attention was something else entirely.
Another announcement the Federation had released stirred the group into an even louder frenzy.
"It’s a new game!" one of the boys typed, his words flashing bright against the projection. "They said it’ll be a duel ttype . Anyone in Aurora can play it. Even ordinary people."
That one line had the chat exploding.
"It’s not just for fun either," another added. "The whole system’s designed for cultivators. But they said anyone can enter."
A third voice chimed in: "There’ll be a leaderboard. Top players will get noticed. If someone with the right connections sees your name, you could be picked to join the League."
The effect was instant. The boys in her group were already comparing it to childhood dreams of becoming football stars. The money. The fame. The possibility of being plucked from obscurity into the spotlight. For cultivators, it was the perfect bait. For everyone else, it was the first step into believing they could become more.
It was the same fantasy nearly every boy had once had—imagining himself on the pitch, the crowd chanting his name, his life transformed by talent and recognition. Except now, the fantasy wasn’t limited to a ball on grass. This was grander. This was supernatural.
And Lily... Lily happened to be one of those swept up in the tide.
Her cousin had always forced her to cultivate. At first, she complied because it was easier than arguing—and because she too wanted strength, though her desire never burned as fiercely as his expectations. Thanks to Michael’s support, she never lacked resources. But cultivation was a slow road, and even with every advantage, she knew it would take her at least half a year to a year to reach the threshold of becoming an official cultivator.
Until now, that had always seemed distant, something she could take at her own pace. But this—this changed things.
For the first time, Lily felt a hunger gnawing at her insides. The kind of hunger Michael would have been glad to see far earlier.
The image of herself standing in an arena, her name climbing the leaderboard, her face broadcasted across the continent—millions watching, millions cheering—burned bright in her mind.
Would she one day step into the League? Would she be worshiped like her cousin was?
It was only a thought. But it was an exciting one.
The messages kept piling in, a blur of speculation and bravado.
Lily read them all in silence until the words began to blur together. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her phone. With a quiet exhale, she let the projection fade and set the device aside.
It slipped from her palm and dropped onto the bedspread with a dull thud.
Her eyes wandered across the room. They stopped on the object leaning against the far wall—a simple wooden sword.
For a long moment, she just stared at it. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel-fire.ɴet
Then, without another thought, Lily rose from the bed and crossed the room. Her hand wrapped around the worn hilt, the familiar weight settling into her grip.
She stepped out into the backyard, the night air cool against her skin. The grass was damp beneath her feet, the silence broken only by the distant chirping of crickets.
Lily raised the sword.
The first swing wasn’t perfect, her form stiff from lack of practice. But she didn’t stop. She swung again. And again. The rhythm came slowly, her body loosening as repetition took hold.